


Understanding

by bellabonbon



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Crying, Gen, Post-Canon, Tears, moms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-11-09 17:10:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11109084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellabonbon/pseuds/bellabonbon
Summary: Cynthia Murphy pulls the door open and just looks at her. She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t do anything. Just looks at her. It’s incredibly unnerving.“Um, hi.” Heidi doesn’t think she should smile, but her face seems to do so automatically. It’s a weird smile, weird and awkward, but it’s there. “I… How are you?”It’s the dumbest possible question she could ask, and she mentally kicks herself when she hears it leave her mouth. She doesn’t need an answer. She knows very well how Cynthia is, and it’s not great.Still, she replies with a slightly biting, “Fine. How are you?” because apparently she’s justthatdeep into manners and appearances that she can’t just let herself be the bitch she should totally be allowed to be in this situation.





	Understanding

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own any of these characters.

She nearly talks herself out of it at least six times on the short drive. She turns the radio up and tries to clear her head because this is something she needs to do. She knows that. She takes several deep breaths, trying (and mostly failing) to come up with the right way to do this.

She’s not used to driving in this part of town- where the houses are bigger and everything looks like a magazine spread. It’s unsettling, but she can’t help imagining what goes on in these houses that are all so perfect from the outside. As she pulls into the driveway of a particularly perfect-looking house, she wonders how it’s possible that things are so wrong on the inside.

There’s only one other car in the driveway, and Heidi’s 2007 Civic looks really out of place next to the new-looking Lexus SUV that’s currently parked in front of the closed garage. When she turns the car off, she takes several long breaths and checks her reflection in the rearview.

Is this okay? Should she have called first? She should have called first. But if she called, she might have gotten no answer. She definitely wouldn’t get an invitation, and this is something she needs to do in person. 

She wipes her palms on the front of her jeans as she gets out of the car, not bothering to take her purse or anything else. She probably won’t be staying long, and she figures that her car would be the very last target if a thief happened to be wondering this street. Without letting herself think about it any further, she walks up to the front door and rings the doorbell.

She doesn’t know what she expects. She never answers the door without checking to see who it is first, so she’s not even sure she’ll get the benefit of an opened door. She just stands there awkwardly, not knowing what to do, so just not doing anything. After a minute or so, she hears someone on the other side of the door. She glances at the peephole but can’t see anything. She doesn’t know if she’s surprised or not when she hears the door being unlocked.

Cynthia Murphy pulls the door open and just looks at her. She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t do anything. Just looks at her. It’s incredibly unnerving.

“Um, hi.” Heidi doesn’t think she should smile, but her face seems to do so automatically. It’s a weird smile, weird and awkward, but it’s there. “I… How are you?”

It’s the dumbest possible question she could ask, and she mentally kicks herself when she hears it leave her mouth. She doesn’t need an answer. She knows very well how Cynthia is, and it’s not great.

Still, she replies with a slightly biting, “Fine. How are you?” because apparently she’s just _that_ deep into manners and appearances that she can’t just let herself be the bitch she should totally be allowed to be in this situation.

“Uh…” Heidi swallows because she’s nervous and despite prepping for this over and over, she suddenly has no idea what to say. “Can we talk? I mean, I understand completely if you don’t want to. That’s fine. I just-“

She cuts herself off when Cynthia steps aside and just opens the door for her. Heidi blinks and then nods, stepping inside and trying not to freak out like she really wants to. She needs to keep it together because this isn’t about her. She doesn’t have the right to freak out, especially not right now.

Cynthia shuts the door behind her and then leads her to the kitchen. Everything is just as clean and orderly as it was the last time she was here, and Heidi briefly puzzles over a life that would allow her to present the exact same house to unexpected guests as she does to invited ones. If someone knocked on her door today, she’d be embarrassed to let them in to see the pile of dishes in the sink and the laundry that’s still just lying unsorted in a basket on the living room floor. That’s not the case at this house, though. Everything is perfectly in order. No dishes, no laundry, not even a random towel lying on the kitchen counter.

She sits down at the table after Cynthia motions toward it, and she doesn’t know how she feels sitting there doing nothing while the woman she just unexpectedly bombarded with her presence starts pouring her a cup of coffee. But she just sits there and waits and says, “Thank you,” when a mug is set down in front of her, along with an actual sugar bowl and creamer pitcher.

Cynthia has her own mug and sits down in the seat directly across from her, basically as far away as it’s possible to get at a four seat table. Heidi watches as she carefully tips the creamer pitcher into her cup and thinks about her own Great Value brand creamer that comes straight out of the bottle. It would never in a million years cross her mind to put it in a special pitcher.

“Do you want any?” Cynthia holds up the creamer, but Heidi just shakes her head. 

“No, thanks. Black is fine.”

Cynthia nods, and they both take timid sips of their coffee. And it’s possibly the most awkward moment ever.

Heidi sets her mug down, determined to at least get her words out. “I need to apologize.” She rushes the sentence out and then takes a breath. “I’m… so sorry.”

Cynthia looks at her, and her face is almost unreadable. She just blinks, and Heidi stumbles for something else to say. 

“I still… I don’t know why he did this.”

She doesn’t need to expand on what the _this_ is. They both know. Spelling it out won’t make any difference or change anything.

After a long moment of silence, Cynthia finally speaks again. “How is he?”

Heidi is surprised by the question, surprised by Cynthia’s interest in how Evan, of all people, is doing. She swallows and shakes her head a little bit. “He’s… not great.” She figures honesty is the best policy, especially in this situation. “But he’s trying to deal with everything.”

“Is he going to his therapy sessions?”

Heidi nods, a little confused. “Yes…”

But Cynthia just nods and takes another sip of her coffee. “That’s good.” Her eyes find the table, and Heidi isn’t sure what to think. 

She should say something, make some excuse for her son and for the things he’s done, but she doesn’t know what excuse that would be. Nothing will change. No amount of excuses or apologies will make anything better. She knows that. 

Still… “I’m so sorry. For… everything. I… I just…” She shakes her head. “I’m sorry.”

Cynthia doesn’t say anything. She just keeps staring at the table, both hands wrapped around her mug. Her entire demeanor is different from the last time Heidi was here. She was so bubbly and excited, and Heidi had been shocked that someone experiencing her level of tragedy could smile. She’s not smiling anymore. She seems shut down, totally withdrawn. And instead of the animosity that Heidi was left with the last time she was here, she feels her heart break for the woman across from her.

“How are you doing? H-how do you feel?”

The question is stupid because she’s not well. Obviously. But Cynthia actually looks up, blinks at her and looks a little surprised, and Heidi wonders if she’s not used to people asking that question. She has no experience with this sort of tragedy, but she remembers when her father died. People offered their sympathy, said how sorry they were for her loss, but they didn’t really ask her how she was feeling. People don’t know what to say in situations like that, so it’s easier to simply offer condolences instead of asking for details on how people are feeling.

She half-expects Cynthia to give her another _I’m fine_ answer, but she’s surprised when she gets a more honest answer. 

“Empty.”

Heidi swallows. She understands why people don’t ask these questions. They’re difficult. Honest answers are even more difficult. But she’s used to difficult. Her entire life has been difficult, and she knows how empty feels. Maybe not on this level- _definitely_ not on this level- but she’s been empty before.

“Have you talked to anyone?” By anyone, she means a professional. She doesn’t have to say that, though, because Cynthia knows what she means. 

She shakes her head, just slightly, and her fingers tighten around her mug. “No…”

“Maybe you should. It might help.” 

But Cynthia’s eyes just start watering, and she shakes her head again. “No.”

Okay. Heidi hesitates, trying to choose her next words very carefully. She’s worried about overstepping boundaries, and she’s not at all sure that this is even remotely her place considering… _everything._ But she owes her this. At the very least. She owes it to her to at least _try._

“You can talk to me. If you want. I’m a good listener.” Cynthia just blinks at her again, and she stutters for a follow-up explanation. “I mean… I know you may not want to. To talk to _me._ But if you want…” She has no idea what she’s saying.

“What is Evan’s actual diagnosis?” Heidi’s surprise at the question must show on her face because Cynthia quickly shakes her head. “I’m sorry. That’s… That’s none of my business. I’m sorry.”

Once she gets over the initial shock of the question, though, she shakes her own head. “No. No, it’s fine.” She swallows and starts listing. “Multiple anxiety disorders- general, social, situational… dysthymic disorder, mild OCD…”

Her voice trails off, and she wonders if it’s okay for her to be saying these things. Evan is nearly an adult. It might not be her place to discuss his medical history anymore. Still… 

Cynthia doesn’t look horrified at the list or judgmental in the least. Instead, she just says, “And he’s always…?”

Heidi nods, answering the unasked question. Has Evan always been like this? “Pretty much. We didn’t go to the doctor until he was eight, but yes, pretty much.”

She figures she owes it to be honest. She knows talking about this sort of thing is difficult. It’s hard to find people who relate. She remembers feeling lost and alone when the doctor wrote the first prescription, when she was suddenly faced with the reality that Evan wasn’t just a shy kid who had trouble making friends. It’s hard. She knows that.

“C-Connor…” Cynthia’s voice breaks, and she shakes her head, blinking rapidly as her eyes focus somewhere randomly on the table. “We didn’t…” 

She can’t finish her thought, and without thinking, Heidi moves from her current chair and into the one beside her. She takes Cynthia’s hand into both of her own, resting them on the table, and Cynthia just looks at her in surprise. She doesn’t jerk her hand back, though, and Heidi feels her fingers curl slightly.

“I don’t know how you feel,” Heidi says quietly. “But I’ve imagined it more times than I want to admit…” 

She’s never said that out loud, never admitted that she’s been forced to imagine scenarios where her child is there one day and suddenly not there the next. She’s been terrified of that for years, knows the constant worry that’s wormed its way through her body as she’s watched her child drift further and further away from her and into himself. She knows that feeling. 

It’s not good.

Cynthia’s breath hitches a little bit, her eyes wet. “I don’t know why he did this…”

Heidi shakes her head. “Depression doesn’t make any sense. It’s terrible.”

“We didn’t help him.”

Heidi has no idea about anything that was done for Connor before he died. She also doesn’t ask because it’s not her place. She has too many of her own issues to try to judge anyone else’s. Besides, if there’s one thing she’s learned to come to terms with in her life, it’s the fact that regretting the past doesn’t change the past.

“Being a parent is hard.” It’s the most obvious and real statement she can manage. It’s just the truth. 

Cynthia nods and ducks her head, and Heidi doesn’t miss the tears that finally leak out of her eyes. 

Heidi feels like her heart is breaking. She didn’t expect coming here to turn into this. She expected to issue an apology on behalf of her son and then leave quickly because she wouldn’t be welcomed. She didn’t expect to be sitting at the kitchen table talking about how hard it is to be a mom. 

But it _is_ hard. It’s so hard. And even though she has never (and prays that she _will_ never) experienced the situation that Cynthia’s currently in, she knows all about the helpless feeling of watching a kid that you love go through so much pain and hurt and not be able to do a damn thing about it. She’s always heard the criticisms that some people mutter behind her back. Her family, random coworkers who think she gives a crap about their opinions. They say she’s coddled her son too much. Turned him too soft. Maybe he wouldn’t be like that if she didn’t baby him so much.

Fuck them.

“I wish I could do something for you…” Heidi squeezes the hand that she’s holding, and that just results in a broken sob from the woman beside her.

Cynthia keeps her head ducked and uses her free hand to mop at her eyes. “I’m sorry for crying,” she finally mumbles, taking in a shaky breath like she’s trying to get herself together. But no.

“Don’t apologize for your feelings. You have every right to cry. Cry as much as you need to.”

She’s said it to Evan before, when he’s been so embarrassed by reacting to certain situations. As he’s gotten older, she’s seen him cry less and less. This isn’t because she thinks he’s finding less things to be upset over, it’s simply because he’s hiding it from her. When he was younger, he didn’t have any sort of filter for his tears. When he was sad or upset, he would just cry. As he got older, he started falling into society-forced gender norms that said it wasn’t okay for boys, especially boys over the age of 9, to cry. His anxiety has always been the worst part of his issues by far. But he’s also functionally depressive, which can be escalated tremendously by his anxiety. He’s emotional. He has panic attacks. He cries. Heidi’s always tried to tell him that he has nothing to be sorry for, nothing to be embarrassed about. 

He still tries to hide it anyway.

“I’m a mess.” Cynthia lets out a weird, sort of humorless laugh as she continues to swipe at her cheeks with her free hand. 

“You’re not a mess.” Heidi looks at her seriously because really? If she was in that position, she’d probably be on the floor, literally unable to even stand up. The fact that Cynthia is dressed, showered, and out of bed at all? She’s definitely not a mess. “You’re alive. You’re here. That’s enough.”

“Where did you learn all this?” Cynthia laughs again, although it’s obviously not in amusement. 

“I work in a hospital. And also, lots and lots of counseling.” She tries to smile and raises her eyebrows.

Cynthia nods and takes a deep breath, drawn in and ragged like she’s physically trying to calm herself down. Heidi just holds her hand because she doesn’t know what else to do. She just thinks she might need that right now. They sit in silence for a couple of minutes while Cynthia just breathes and swallows and obviously tries to stop crying, even though Heidi thinks she probably needs to cry a lot more. She doesn’t say that, though, just lets her calm down a little before she finally speaks again.

“Do you want to talk about Connor?”

Once again, she’s not at all sure that it’s her place. She doesn’t know what’s appropriate in this situation, but she also can’t help feeling that these are the questions nobody’s asking. She doesn’t know if it’s the right thing, but she just thinks… She would want to talk about Evan.

Cynthia’s just looking at her, eyes still watering as she blinks. She looks surprised, almost nervous. Heidi tries to offer another smile and keeps her voice as gentle as possible.

“We don’t have… we don’t have to talk about what happened. But maybe. Maybe you could tell me about what he was like when he was little?”

Cynthia still doesn’t speak. She just sits there staring, like she’s thinking too hard. Heidi doesn’t push her. She still doesn’t know if she’s even allowed to ask these questions. After everything that’s happened, she might be the last person who deserves any kind of conversation. Even one that’s meant to help. 

But then Cynthia does speak. She twists her lower lip in and then finally says, “He was quiet.”

Heidi just nods. She doesn’t want to push. She just wants her to say whatever she feels like. If that’s all she wants to say, that’s fine. But after a few ore moments of silence, she starts speaking again.

“He was… He just always wanted to be right underneath me.” She chokes out a laugh that almost sounds like a sob, but the tears don’t fall. Heidi smiles and nods again. “He was just… just kind of my little buddy.” 

She actually smiles, and Heidi feels a burning behind her own eyes. She can’t cry right now, though, and she knows it. 

“Larry, my husband,” she adds unnecessarily- Heidi knows who he is. “He always said I babied him too much. But…” She shrugs a little. “I don’t know. Maybe I did.”

But Heidi shakes her head. “There’s nothing wrong with babying your babies.”

Cynthia seems to exhale at that, and she nods a little. Like she understands. In the way that only another mom could understand.

“He liked art.” She’s speaking slowly, like she’s trying not to let her emotions get out of control. “He used to like… we would do arts and crafts a lot at home. He really liked that.”

Heidi has always been slightly jealous of stay at home moms who got to spend their kids’ younger years finger-painting and making tissue paper flower bouquets. She’s never really known what that’s like. Evan was a daycare kid from the time he was eight weeks old. She always felt so guilty dropping him off, especially when he was old enough to realize it and cling to her leg and whimper every time she told him she had to go. 

She obviously doesn’t say any of that now.

“He used to draw. When he was really little. He liked to draw these little…” she takes in a shaky breath, “cartoons.”

“I bet you’ve still got them.” Heidi gives her an encouraging smile, knowing that all moms have drawers stuffed with their kids’ old drawings. 

“Some of them. Yeah…” Her voice trails off, and then a small smile crosses her face. “I always liked when he’d draw family pictures because he always made me look like a princess or something.” She shakes her head and kind of rolls her eyes. “It’s dumb.”

“No, it’s cute. Little boys are so sweet.” She can remember those days, too, back when she adored hearing how she was the prettiest girl in the world- at least in the eyes of her four year old. 

“And he’d always draw us with a dog because that’s all he ever used to talk about when he was little. How badly he wanted a dog.”

“Did you have one?”

“No. Zoe was scared, and Larry thought it would be too much work.” 

Her face falls, and the smile disappears. Heidi doesn’t need to ask. She can read the regret all over Cynthia’s face.

“He had a hamster once. But then it bit him, and he was terrified of it after that. I ended up having to do everything for it. Of course.” She rolls her eyes but then frowns. “He cried when it died, though.”

“Did he like superheroes?” 

Heidi asks the question to keep the conversation going. She feels like it’s important. Like she should know some things about Connor. And also like Cynthia should be allowed to talk about things other people might feel are inconsequential. She’s not sure why she lands on superheroes, but she’s probably just taking a page out of the phase Evan went through when he was five and wanted Superman _everything._

Connor, it seems, did not.

“Not really. He used to watch the Batman cartoon sometimes, but he was never really…” She shrugs a little as her voice trails off. “He was never really interested in that kind of stuff like other kids were.” Heidi nods, understanding that, too. “He liked reading,” Cynthia continues. “He always wanted me to read to him he was little. But he loved reading… Even when he got… older.”

It hits Heidi that Cynthia will never be able to say _when he grew up_ because Connor will never grow up. The best she’ll ever be able to say is _got older._ And she realizes how tragic it is to be taken out of the world at such a young age. To take _yourself_ out of the world. At seventeen. She thinks about Evan as _practically an adult_ when she thinks about him logically. When she looks at him, though, she still just sees a kid. Because he is. Just a kid. God.

There’s a long silence after that. Cynthia’s just staring at the space in front of her, seemingly lost in her own thoughts. Heidi just lets her have her moment because she’s obviously processing something. It’s a little awkward because she doesn’t know what to do for her, but she figures that just being here and listening might be enough. She hopes it is. She doesn’t know how else to help her.

Everything suddenly seems too much, and Cynthia closes her eyes and seems to be struggling a little bit with her breathing. She gets it under control, though, and just quietly says, “He wasn’t a bad kid…”

Heidi doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t know what she would say anyway. She just sits there, and Cynthia lets out another shaky breath.

“People said… He wasn’t...”

Heidi doesn’t think about what she’s doing. She just scoots her chair closer and takes her hands away from Cynthia’s, wrapping them around her both of her shoulders instead. And then Cynthia Murphy is _sobbing_ into her shoulder. She’s clutching at her back like she’s desperate for something to hold onto. She should be angry, cussing Heidi out for all the things she’s responsible for by proxy. But she’s not. She’s just sitting there crying in her arms, and all Heidi can do is just hold her and let her do it.

She can’t imagine it. Not really. She _has_ imagined it, more often than she cares to say. But she knows she can’t really understand that kind of pain. She figures it has to be somewhere on the same level of having a child and realizing you had no idea you could ever love another person so much. She thinks it would be the same, except with grieving instead of loving. It has to be the highest of the high. The worst of the worst kind of pain. Unimaginable. 

“I’m so sorry.” She whispers the words, hugging this woman that she barely knows and who, by all rational standards, should hate her. It doesn’t matter, though. Her heart is breaking.

Cynthia just continues to cry, her chest shaking with uneven breaths. There’s no guessing what’s going on in her head, and Heidi doesn’t try to. She doesn’t need to. She just needs to be here. So she is. She thinks she’s probably here for a reason.

“I should have helped him…” It sounds desperate and broken and muffled, and Heidi just hugs her a little bit tighter. She doesn’t know what to say, so she just gives a simple answer.

“You loved him.” 

Cynthia nods, still crying, and she hugs Heidi even closer. After a few seconds, she turns her head and barely whispers, “Evan wrote that note…”

Heidi feels her stomach drop. Her eyes start burning even worse than before, and the lump she’s gotten so used to reappears like magic in her throat. “I know,” she says quietly, struggling to even find her voice.

But then Cynthia’s shaking her head, her face still pressed somewhere close to Heidi’s neck. She starts stumbling over words that make no sense but are easily umderstood. 

“Take care of him… Don’t… He doesn’t- He… Connor.” 

And then she’s sobbing harder than she was before. And Heidi squeezes her eyes shut, trying and totally failing to stop the tears there now. The words of the letter flash behind her eyelids. She read it over and over, knowing before she even asked. Those were Evan’s words. Not Connor’s. Connor killed himself. Evan tried to kill himself. Those words. _This isn’t going to be a good day or a good week or a good year. Because why would it be?_ Those were Evan’s. _Face it, would anyone even notice if I just disappeared tomorrow?_ Evan wrote those words. Evan didn’t just fall out of a tree. Evan wrote that letter. Evan wrote that letter that everyone easily believed was a suicide note.

That’s what Evan was feeling.

And they sit there, just crying together. Heidi and this woman whose life has been destroyed. Who should want nothing to do with her. Who she has nothing in common with. Who has suffered more than any one person should ever suffer. And they cry together because they’re so different, but they’re exactly the same. Two moms with two sons. Two moms who have no idea how to help their kids or fix them or take away any of their sadness and pain. And it’s horrible, but it’s also really powerful. So they just cry.

Finally- when they’re done crying, and when they _finally_ pull apart, both wiping at their eyes and looking like total messes- Heidi stands up and awkwardly says that she needs to go. Cynthia nods, completely failing at making her face look presentable (like it matters- like Heidi would ever or _could_ ever judge her). She stands up, too, and walks her to the front door. Heidi knows that they probably won’t ever share anything like this again. She’s not even certain that they’ll ever speak again. But she’s okay with that. She’s okay with this.

And just as she’s about to thank her for the coffee (because she can’t think of anything else to say), Cynthia reaches over and hugs her again. Not the hour long clinging type of hug they just separated from. Just a quick, normal hug. Before she lets go, she repeats an earlier sentiment. 

“Take care of him.”

And Heidi just nods because she will. She will take care of him. Of her child who’s practically an adult. But is just a kid. Her kid.

She’ll see him grow up.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! These two deserve all the hugs in the world.


End file.
